Destiny's Path
by Little Miss Beatlemaniac
Summary: Sometimes, it's amazing how destiny can lead you to a whole new direction. And Waylon Smithers has yet to discover what or who lies at the end of the path he must follow. (A Moe/Smithers fic, made for a request. Also has a bit of Burns/Smithers Sr. Rated T for swearing and drunkenness, I guess.)
1. Fired

A/N: So, this is a request from somebody who wanted a Moe/Smithers fic. As a budding author, I must confess that the idea of this pairing is actually really interesting. Because if you think about it, it's kinda funny how one might simply stop pining over somebody of their desire and walk down the true path of destiny with another person waiting at the end. Thus, the title of this is most appropriate. By the way, I appreciate the request. I love it when people think and express their opinions: it helps me to think more analytically as well.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Simpsons. Matt Groening and FOX, however, do.

(Third-Person P.O.V.)

Our story begins in a below-average town named Springfield in an even more critically unstable power plant called the Springfield Nuclear Power Plant. And in that power plant, among many other employees, was a young and cheerful man named Waylon Smithers. Everybody called him "Smithers" and he was an executive, as well as the personal assistant of the man who ran the plant.

Mr. Charles Montgomery Burns was a grumpy, curmudgeonly old man. That much was true. It was amazing what lengths Smithers would go to assist him, from lying to the Congress to something as simple as peeling a grape. And yet, it was never quite enough. For he was never quite satisfied.

"Smithers! Get your lazy, good-for-nothing butt in here!" Mr. Burns barked.

"Yes, sir!" Smithers replied, running into the older man's office as quickly as he could. Once the younger man reached Burns's office, he asked, "What are my duties for today, sir?"

"Congress is on my tails again! Get yourself ready for your usual acts of perjury!" Mr. Burns commanded.

"Yes, sir!" Smithers echoed, touching his hand to his forehead shortly before getting into a car and driving to Washington D.C. to lie for, what, the _eighty_-_third_ time that month? He sighed and glued his eyes to the road, holding the wheel with both hands as every sensible driver should.

Meanwhile, Mr. Burns was at his manor, head in hands. Bobo was sitting on his desk faithfully, like a stuffed guardian angel of some sort.

"Good gravy! He's looking more like his father everyday! I don't think I can handle the pain anymore! The only thing I can do is to...let him go. Replace him with a nice woman. _Yeah_, that's a _brilliant_ idea! Am I right, Bobo?" He looked at the bear expectantly, but all he got in return was a cold, black stare. As if the bear had just argued against his so-called logic, Mr. Burns's jaw dropped open and he put a hand on his chest in utter disgust.

"_Wha_?! B- Of _course_ I am! Screw you!" he shouted, hurling the bear across the room by its leg. Mr. Burns stuck his nose high in the air in triumph: _that_ would teach the little baloney-head for trying to downplay his ego. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the bear was lying on the ground...motionless...probably dying – wait, WHAT?!

"Oh, no!" Burns cried out, running over to where Bobo was. He shook the bear by the shoulders. "Bobo, are you alright?! Please! Speak to meeeeee!" he yelled, before bursting into tears and sobbing over the teddy bear's body. Just as suddenly, he looked up. "Bobo?" he choked. The bear looked back at him lifelessly and he gasped out of happiness. "Bobo, you've come back!" he shouted gleefully. With that, he picked up the teddy bear and danced jovially around the room with it.

He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but deep inside, he missed the old Waylon Smithers. The two men had fought in World War I together, been through the Great Depression together, done everything together. There was not a day that went by without Mr. Burns eventually thinking about Smithers Sr. He missed his smile, his devotion, his seriousness, his funny little mustache...everything. He lost his best friend at least forty years ago and it still hurt like hell. With Smithers Jr. looking like a long-lost twin, it was too much for him to handle. And so, he made the decision that the young man had to go.

Smithers returned the next day, having lied to the Congress successfully _again_. He was seriously starting to think they ought to get their brains scanned. Of course, Burns called him to his office once again. Smithers arrived to see a woman with long blonde hair, glasses, and a skin-tight lab outfit standing next to Mr. Burns's chair. He raised a very perplexed eyebrow.

"Um, sir? Not to be rude or anything, but who is this?" he asked.

"Heh heh, why, you planning to steal her for yourself?" Burns replied, chuckling nervously.

"That's very funny, sir," Smithers said, a deadpan expression on his face that read, "What, are you mocking me, or something?" Once Burns cut the bullcrap, he sighed and said,

"Well actually, Smithers, it seems that the employee performance rate has been decreasing dramatically. I also noticed that the power plant in Shelbyville has an increased profit by 25%, we are losing money by spending it on safety hazards..." He listed all the things that Smithers was hoping to keep hidden from him. At each mention of money problems, Smithers's head sank lower and lower.

"I didn't want to tell you, sir...your hands are always so tied, I didn't want you to worry," he whispered almost inaudibly. It took Mr. Burns all he had not to burst out crying when he said his next few sentences.

"Your father was the same way, you know...often thinking of my feelings first before his...anyways! We can't have sentiment getting in the way of what's most important – money! And so, uh, you're fired." It was very curt, as he did not want to go into a whole spiel about how his feelings were growing so complicated.

"What? But sir - !" Smithers cried retaliatingly. After all, his job wasn't just about Mr. Burns: it was also about earning money, getting respect, and doing something besides watching Comedy Central, for God's sakes!

"No 'buts' about it! Now scamper out of my office before I release the hounds!" Mr. Burns commanded. That was one order Smithers never thought he would have to follow.

"Yes, sir," he sighed sadly, every bit of energy he had drained out of him. He snorted at the new lady, whose name was Sarah, under his breath. Trying desperately to pretend he didn't just fire a mini Smithers Sr, Mr. Burns decided to show Sarah around the plant even if she'd already seen it. Now that his old assistant was out of the picture, things would (hopefully) be normal again.

Smtihers got into his car and checked to see if he was alone. Once he found out he was, he turned up Eric Carmen on the radio and screamed the ballad, tears flowing from his face.

"Aaaall byyyy myyyyseeeelf!

Don't wanna be aaaall byyyyy myyyyseeeelf!

Don't wanna be by myself any mooooooore!"

"Shut up!" a random employee shouted from the power plant. Smithers angrily made a rude finger gesture at him and shouted,

"Hey, do you mind?! I'm trying to wallow up in despair, here!"

"Oh! Sorry, dude! Carry on!" the man replied. Smithers shook his head. **What an idiot, **he thought. Then, he remembered that he was supposed to be in a sad, depressed mood so he went back to that mode. With a shaking hand, he wrote down a list of all the things to do this week. Then, he reviewed the plan.

"Let's see, here:

1.) Watch Brokeback Mountain and cry over a tubload of ice cream.

2.) Watch The Notebook and fricking bawl my eyes out.

3.) Have a series of temper tantrums, probably destroying the house in the process.

4.) Sit in the corner, suck my thumb, and shout 'WHY?!' at given moments.

5.) Shout/sing a number of sad songs, including 'Don't Wanna Miss A Thing', by Aerosmith.

6.) Bitch about women to some guy I'll probably prank-call when I'm wasted.

7.) Most importantly, go to a bar tonight and get as drunk as a monkey."

Once he was satisfied with the list, he began driving to the nearest bar in Springfield: one that was built for exclusively gay people, like himself.


	2. Flashback

**A/N: In this chapter, we get to see a bit of Moe's everyday life at the tavern and a bit of his past. You know, I couldn't help but notice how similar Moe is to Billy Joel. I mean, they both look the same, they have New York accents, and the song "Piano Man" practically **_**screams**_** "Moe's Tavern" to me. They have different personalities, but they both sort of suffer from depression. I mean, Billy Joel wrote a suicide letter once! It's literally so scary how much they bear a resemblance. I apologize if I'm ranting, but this is just so funny!**

**Disclaimer: (Read by Mr. Burns) The author doesn't own "The Simpsons" or its characters, including – hey, what's up with all these slang terms? Is that really how kiddies talk, these days? Our generation is history...oh, well. Release the hounds!**

**(Third-Person P.O.V.)**

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, there was a tavern in not-so-great shape. And yet, the patrons who visited thought it was the place of the Saints whenever they had a tough day at work. The alcoholic drinks served as perfect ways to end the day. ...That is, as long as they didn't pay much attention to the owner.

Morris (Moe) Szyslak, the owner of Moe's tavern, was a grumpy and broody man in his middle-ages who spent a majority of his life trying to find ways to kill himself. This was because nobody in Springfield seemed to like him and he was always getting the worst of the luck that came to haunt him. His hair was originally black, but it began to grey due to the constant stress he was put under. In addition, he had grey-hazel eyes, a round nose, the overall facial appearance of a gorilla, and a stout, slouched body.

He was almost never seen smiling. There wasn't a lot for him to smile about. Sometimes if somebody was driving him crazy, he would point a shotgun at their head and threaten to shoot. More often than not, he had to deal with obnoxious prank calls from Bart. Speaking of which -

RING! The phone rang and Moe cursed, making his way to the bar and picking it up.

"Moe's Tavern," he sighed.

"Is Anita there?" a voice asked.

"Who?"

"Anita. Last name, Straightjacket."

"Hold on, I'll check," Moe grumbled, before placing his hand over the speaker and shouting, "Is there an Anita Straightjacket here?! Hey, _everyone_! _Anita Straightjacket_!"

"How long did it take for you to figure _that_ one out?" Lenny smartly remarked, before everybody burst out laughing.

"_What_?!" Moe demanded, not understanding why everybody was laughing. Then it dawned on him. "Hey, w-wait a minute!" By the time he picked up the phone again, he was steaming with rage. "Listen, you little red-bellied pigbutt! When I get my hands on you, I'm gonna drop you in a septic tank and watch as you drown in your own grandpa's feces!"

However, the prank-caller was too busy laughing to take the threat seriously. And as usual, the session would take place again the next day, so long as Moe remained gullible. In the mean time, everybody was laughing wildly at Moe's gullibility and the hilariousness of the prank-call. Whether they realized it or not, it helped to lower Moe's self-esteem every time it happened. That night, Moe could no longer take what was happening. His right eye twitched and he stood absolutely still. Finally, he grabbed his shotgun and barked,

"Alright, that's _it_! Out of my bar! _NOW_!" Shots rang out and everybody ran out of the bar, holding their heads and screaming.

"He's off his rocker!"

"Moe's on a rampage!"

"He wasn't kiddin' when he said he needed a straightjacket!"

"Don't go in there! He's got a gun!"

Unbeknownst to the patrons that visited, the gun wasn't loaded with any actual bullets. Moe knew that if he actually shot any of them, he would be deported back to the Netherlands immediately. On the other hand, Holland was a hell of a lot nicer than this run-down town full of jerks, he supposed. It didn't use to be like that. He used to be a kind, strong young man who loved children and wanted to have a successful boxing career. **God, what an annoying guy. All sunshine and lollipops before he grew up and realized how much humanity sucked, **Moe thought darkly and mockingly.

Early in his career, he began to attract the attention of a small group of fans and the Sports TV media. He even remembered what he used to be called.

"There goes The Gladiator, quick as lightning, hitting Dynamic Dino's jawline with the strength and force of ten men! Wow, Bob, I've never seen anything like it!"

"Flaming Tiger is coming in for the kill, but there goes The Gladiator, coming back swinging, and – oh, _my_! Is that a _triple_ spin he's doing in the air?! And he lands perfectly too, just before he _slams _that fist into the right shoulder, knocking out the great, ferocious beast! _Jesus_, Bob! I must be _dreaming_!"

"Now this man is almost ten feet tall, thanks to his trusty stilts! They call him Lean Larry! I wonder what The Gladiator has in store for _this _one! He's just tall enough to reach his – _Ooh_! _That_ looked like it hurt! Hooray for The Gladiator!"

Eventually, his fanbase grew larger and he was all over the media, kicking every opponent's butt. Everybody loved him. He was seen as a God in the eyes of all who knew him. ...That is, until the summer of '64.

He was at the Championship Rounds, getting ready to face the biggest, most muscular boxer of all time. He went by the name of Pearl.

"Ha! Anybody with a sissy name like that is liable to trip over his own feet before the match begins!" Moe scoffed bemusedly. So confident and charismatic was he, that he lit up the whole arena when he stepped out from behind the doors. The other man, on the other hand, had a dark, menacing aura about him that made the crowd cower in their seats. Nobody, not anybody, was brave enough to step up to the challenge and fight him. ...Nobody, but Morris Szyslak.

The fight had begun and The Gladiator and Pearl were one-on-one. Nobody dared to ridicule the other man's name, for fear of them being killed.

"They say he eats rocks for breakfast and brushes his teeth with sulfuric acid!" one crowd member whispered.

"One time, he got so angry with his manager that he picked up an automobile, utilized it as a baseball bat, and hit him right outta town!" another one beside him added.

"Ain't nobody fought him an' lived t' tell the tale!" an old man with a long white beard whimpered, shuddering in his place. Everybody gasped and moved to the edge of their seats, waiting, watching. Pearl threw a punch. Thankfully, he missed. The TV crew began to speak, albeit very nervously.

"There he goes, Bob! The man of the century! He must have balls of steel to be up against _that_ guy! And we see here that he, yet again, manages to dodge a punch! _Pow_! He hits him right in the left rib! But what's _this_?! Looks like The Gladiator's signature move wasn't enough to knock 'im down! Oh, and there goes Pearl, standing up, looking mighty mad! He screams like a battle-axe warrior, throws the strongest punch he can muster, and – and – _OH MY GOD_!"

The crowd screamed and covered their eyes as Pearl straddled The Gladiator and beat the stuffing out of him. Nobody would do anything. When Pearl finally screamed with rage and left, The Gladiator was almost lifeless-looking, bleeding everywhere with several broken bones. Back in the day, nothing was censored on television, so one could only imagine the reactions of his beloved fans when they saw the graphic details of Pearl beating the living hell out of him as he yelled.

"Is this _it_?! Could – Could this mark the very end of The Gladiator's _career_?!" the TV reporter sputtered. Moe was hospitalized immediately, but it was too late: his condition no longer allowed for boxing. He lost everything: his job, his girlfriend, his money, his public image..._everything_. He started out at the very top, before falling down a deep trench, moving to Springfield, and becoming a misfitted failure like almost every other adult there. On top of it all, he was an illegal immigrant who nobody seemed to love. **Screw my life, **he thought drearily, as he wiped the countertops.


	3. Drunk

**A/N: In this chapter, as you may have guessed, Moe and Smithers meet. That is all. Happy reading!**

**(Third-Person P.O.V.)**

Smithers arrived at the gay bar, but all the welcoming committee had to do was look him up and down before deciding,

"Ew, no way! We want beef cakes, not scrawny mercenaries!" They kicked him out before he even got to the _door_. From there, Smithers looked all over for a decent gay bar of any kind, but either they didn't accept him for his looks, or there were creepy predatory gays that stalked every guy they could find. Finally, there seemed to be zero bars left in all of Springfield.

At the same time, Moe was at his tavern, serving everybody beers. The only people who came back to Moe's place that night were his regular customers. This included Homer, Barney, Lenny and Carl, Sam, and Larry. He went to the back room where he kept his special brews and barrels full of whiskey, wine, beer, scotch, and pretty much every other alcohol-related drink. This way, nobody would be able to hear him when he screamed,

"SCREW MY LIFE!" He gasped: somebody else had been saying that at the same time as _him_! ...But _who_? Moe peeked out the back window, but the dark, pitch-black of the night did not allow for visibility.

"That's funny. I could've sworn there was somebody here," he declared, shrugging. He was about to get back to work, when he saw a moving shadow in a dim alley light. "Who's there?" he demanded sternly. By God, he wouldn't allow homeless people to live behind his tavern if his life depended on it. He couldn't _stand_ free-loaders.

"Huh? Oh! Sorry, mister! I was looking for my car, but eversince Mr. Burns cut the Street Light power, I haven't been able to see a damned thing outside. Do you know where I can, uh...get a drink?" a voice asked, out of the blue. Moe's eyes moved to see a young man in some fancy business suit, with light brown hair that also greyed from stress, hazel-honey eyes, a small button-like nose, and a perfect posture. As far as Moe could tell, the young man looked to be seven years younger than him, yet he was an inch taller.

"Eh...you've come to the right place," he chuckled nervously, before opening the door. The young man looked genuinely surprised, yet pleased. For a moment, Moe felt gratitude from doing such a small, helpful gesture, but before he could let himself get too carried away, he sighed,

"Sometime this year, moron. I don't want the wind blowing flies into my bar." The man slightly jumped in realization and walked through the door clumsily, muttering apologies profusely. Once the door closed, Moe placed a hand on the small of the younger man's back to lead him to the bar area. He jumped again, but relaxed slightly after a second. Once they got there, the man sat on a stool and Moe took his place behind the bar. Moe noticed that the young man had placed an elbow on the countertop and rested his cheek in his hand. As much as he didn't like making conversation with people, he figured it would be a decent thing to do since this guy was a newcomer.

"So, uh...what's a bumblin' flutterbudget like _you_ doin' here?" he teased.

The younger man chuckled and Moe exhaled silently with relief. He wasn't creeping him out: so far, so good.

"Well, actually, I've just had a hard day at work and I need a little something to forget about it," he said. Moe nodded. He was used to listening to problems. But something about this man made him pry for more.

"What happened at work? Did your printer not work, or-" The young man sighed and mumbled,

"No. Nothing like that. It's just...I've liked my old boss for as long as I could remember, but I was replaced by some woman since the sales were dropping. I didn't want to tell my boss, because I didn't want him to worry. See, I hated it whenever he got stressed, because I loved him, but I'm kinda almost over it, now. I just wish I didn't get fired, that's all..." Moe was surprised with what he was hearing. Who the hell did this 'boss' think he was, breaking this man's heart like that?! And wait a second, why did he even _care_?! This was all so weird! Thankfully, though, he kept his inner thoughts to himself.

"There, there. Mosey's here to make it all better. What's your name, man?" he asked.

"Smithers. That's what everybody calls me," he replied. Moe knowingly raised an eyebrow.

"That's your _last_ name, _isn't_ it?" he said, all-too-wisely. Smithers looked as if he were about to say "No," but instead he moped and muttered,

"Yes." Moe was too clever for those kinds of tricks. He waited impatiently for Smithers to say what his first name was, but he wouldn't budge. So, he motivated him to do so by teasing,

"C'mon, surely a handsome-lookin' fella like you has a nice first name. Now if you don't tell me what it is, I'm gonna have to make one up. Although, I _have_ always wanted to meet a guy named Zebulon."

Smithers giggled and his face reddened at being called handsome, but he hid the fact by laying it on the countertop. When he looked up again, he finally cracked.

"It's Waylon. Waylon Smithers," he explained. Moe nodded in thought.

"Hmm...Waylon. I like it. It sounds like, uh...what's-his-name."

"Wayland Flowers?" Moe gave him a look of astonishment.

"How did you know?"

"I get that a lot. Now," Smithers folded his hands together and placed his chin on top of them whilst resting his elbows on the countertop. "What's _your_ name?"

"I'm Moe. Moe Szyslak. 'Moe' is short for my real name, 'Morris'," Moe replied.

"Cute," Smithers commented, referring to the nickname. Moe couldn't help but flush a little before saying,

"Ah ah ah! Not so fast, buddy-boy! If you wanna be my pal, you gotta take this challenge!" Smithers perked up.

"Oh? I'm all ears," he said.

"You have to take this shot of Everclear. Pure alcohol. All in one take and nothing to drown it down. I _dare_ you," he cackled mischieviously.

"O-_ho_! We've got ourselves a _deal_, Mr. Szyslak!" Smithers cackled equally naughtily. He picked up the shot and did what Moe hadn't expected – he drank it down...in _one gulp._

"Holy _shite_!" he exclaimed, drilling his fingers through his hair. "What are you, some kinda _legend_?!"

"Who, _me_?" Smithers remarked, laughing, "Naw, I'm just a measly ex-power plant executive!" He winked almost flirtatiously before Moe got themselves a few drinks.

Later that night, Smithers was more drunk than he had ever been his entire life, and it felt _amazing_. Moe was also drunk, though not quite as much. He was trying to convince Smithers to pretend to yell at his boss for being such a butthole.

"Now, repeat after me: 'Get out of my life, you son of a bitch'!" he said. Smithers laughed and shook his head, not wanting to say it.

"C'mon, _do _it! You know you _wanna_!" Moe whined, moving his hands in the air to get his point across. Smithers giggled like a school girl and said bashfully,

"Please stop...bothering me, sir." Moe's turn to shake his head. Then -

"Aw, c'mon, that's bullcrap! If you said that, your boss would think you were a sissy!"

"Hey, _I'm_ not a sissy!" Smithers laughed, pretending to scold Moe.

"Then _prove_ it."

"Huh? B-"

"_Now_!"

"GET OUT OF MY FRICKING LIFE, YOU SON OF A BITCH!" Smithers screamed, waving his fists in the air. Everybody jumped and looked in his direction before going back to business as usual. Even _Moe_ was taken aback, having jumped backwards five feet. But then he let out a wheezy laugh and patted the younger man on the back.

"Atta boy, Smithy! How do you feel?" he asked. Smithers looked up and parted his lips as if he'd just had an epiphany.

"Like _Madonna._ ...Hell, I'm the prettiest unicorn in all of _Rainbowland_!" he cried giddily. Just as suddenly, he fainted and fell off his bar stool. Moe got up and knelt near where he was immediately.

"Smithy? Smithy~!" he sang gently, but there was no answer. He was knocked out for the night. "Uh oh. ...Hey, Barney! Get the stretcher!


	4. Cuddles

**A/N: So, in this chapter, Moe struggles with a drunk Waylon on his hands and decides to do what seems to be the best choice at the moment: take him to **_**his**_** house.**

**(Third-Person P.O.V.)**

Moe grunted and pushed the stretcher with all his might across the dimly-lit parking lot. Eventually, he reached his car and undid the straps that held the body down. Finally, he lifted Smithers under the arms with utmost care and lay him down in the back seat. It was a challenge for him to do all this, for he hadn't been in shape since the boxing match that ended his career.

As soon as he got in the car, he began to go over the options out loud.

"Let's see...I can't take him home, 'cause it would be dangerous to leave him there alone. He'd probably wander into the street or somethin'. I can't call any of his relatives, 'cause I don't know any of 'em. I could – nah. That's not a great idea either. ...Dammit! _Now_ what?!" Just as suddenly, a lightbulb went off in his head. "I suppose I could just take him to my place and house him over night. It's the only option I've got_left_," he reasoned.

As he drove home, he began to feel grumpy. He understood that Smithers had a rough day at work and all, but why did he have to go and put him through all this trouble?! If his mother ever got a load of what happened, she would throw a fit, he supposed. But then again, his mother was rather prone to fits.

Moe parked in the driveway and Smithers woke up, groggy and klutzy, as if he were doped up on laughing gas. He acted like it, too.

"_Well_! Look who's finally up!" Moe scolded, rolling his eyes and placing his hands on his hips irritatedly.

"Heh heh heh! Hi, Wonder-Woman!" Smithers giggled, waving flimsily.

"Wonder-W – _gah_!" Moe face-palmed himself before snaking an arm around Smithers and under his armpit. "C'mon, get 'er movin'!" he commanded. Smithers practically fell on top of him and he cursed, half-dragging and half-carrying the younger man.

"This is _not_ how I planned to spend the night! I hope you're happy, you dill weed!" Smithers didn't reply. He only smiled stupidly and stared into his eyes. He did have nice eyes, Moe supposed, from a straight point of view, of course. Smithers's eyes reminded the older man of honey and gold bars, and they twinkled in the night even though they were slightly cloudy from being intoxicated.

Once the two men got to the door, Moe guided him clumsily up the stairs to his room.

"I like strawberries," Smithers blurted out of the random, as he sat on the bed.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's great," Moe grumbled sarcastically, as he removed his apron and paced around the room anxiously. Smithers tilted his head and squinted his eyes at Moe like an observant scientist and commented childishly,

"You know, you kinda remind me of someone."

"_Really_, now?" Moe mocked, raising his voice up an octave to emphasize his sarcasm.

"Yeah. You look like...like..." He raised his hand to his chin and pouted his lip in thought before saying, "McCoy! Ha ha!" Moe stared him down for a minute before waving it off and saying,

"Go shower. You smell like shite." Luckily, Smithers was able to sort of stumble over to the bathroom and leave him to his thoughts. **Who does he think he – I look nothing **_**like**_**Leonard McCoy!** Moe was weirded out by the drunken man's thought process. **Dammit, Waylon, I'm a bartender, not a doctor! **

About ten minutes passed before Smithers came back, wearing nothing but the towel wrapped around his torso and his upper body shining from the dampness of the water. Moe couldn't stop himself from checking him out. _**Dang**_**, man! He's got some real nice muscles! My God, are those biceps **_**real**_**? Wow, he looks so **_**studly**_**, and – woah, woah, woah! What am I **_**doing**_**?! Has the alcohol eaten my **_**brain**_**?! Moe, you frickin' moron, you're **_**straight**_**!** The older man's eyes widened in horror and he carded his fingers through his hair stressfully.

Meanwhile, Smithers was about to put his old clothes on. Moe noticed what was happening and ran over to him, squawking like a mother hen.

"No, b - d-don't do _that_, you clot! Then you'll have to _shower_ again! Here," He handed him a pair of pajamas. "Now go get changed in the bathroom."

Smithers did as he was told and came back. Once again, Moe could not avert his eyes from the other man. He was wearing a loosely-fitting brown T-shirt with one shoulder exposed, and high-waisted cream-colored shorts that stopped at mid-thigh and had black vertical stripes on them. When you put it together with his dreamy eyes and ruffled hair, he looked...well..._smokin'._

_"_I'm _seriously_ starting to question my sexuality right now," Moe thought out loud, as he scratched his head. It didn't help that Waylon began to act all shy and girly. In fact, it just made Moe more interested. Smithers coyly blushed and looked up at Moe, asking sadly,

"Moe, why are you (hic) mad at me?" He seemed to be a bit more sobered up, causing him to be both drunk and self-aware at the same time. The older man sighed.

"Oh, Smithy, I'm not mad. Well, I _was_ pretty annoyed, but now I'm not. I mean, sometimes we just have one of those days, right?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry I'm drunk," he admitted shamefully. Moe's heart positively melted at that and slowly reformed into golden happiness. He smiled fondly at the younger man before breaking the moment, saying,

"C'mon, pal. Let's get you to bed." He set up a sleeping bag on the floor and got some pillows from the closet. "Now it isn't the most ideal set-up, but it'll have to do. G'night, buddy." Then, he got into his own bed, relaxing as his body sank into the mattress. All was peaceful with the world, at last. Moe closed his eyes and began to drift off to sleep when -

"Oof!" Moe nearly jumped in shock at the sound of blankets rustling as the person who grunted climbed into the bed with him.

"What the – now, don't try anything funny! Hey - !" Moe's argument was stalled for a minute when that familiar body rolled halfway on top of him so that the person's head was face down next to his ear, an arm was draped across his chest, and one leg rested between the two of his. He couldn't argue in the first place, since there were more than a hundred pounds of human flesh resting on his body, compacting his very lungs.

"Get _off_ me, you knucklehead!" Moe wheezed.

"No, th' sleeping bag's too cold. Mmm, you're warm," Smithers commented sleepily but obstinately. Moe sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Fine, knock yerself out. See if_I _care," he grumbled. But deep inside, he really _did_ care. Smithers, through his drunkenness, could sense this, for he spoke up suddenly.

"Mosey?"

"Hm? What now?" Moe asked, more tired than annoyed.

"I think you're pretty," he slurred, moving his right hand to stroke the older man's face lightly. No matter how hard Moe tried, he just couldn't keep from smiling.

"Thanks, Smithy," he whispered jovially, before he and his new friend dozed off. And this time, Moe was the one who held on tightly, to keep them both warm.

**A/N: Oh, no! It seems I've hopelessly fallen in love with this couple! It doesn't help that I'm listening to REO Speedwagon songs at midnight either, ha ha! X-D So, what do you guys think so far? Please let me know!**


	5. Movie

**A/N: In this chapter, Smithers feels sick and Moe helps him get through it by watching ****Pinocchio**** with him. I just found out that the actor who played Pinocchio died this year on July 7****th****. Apparently, he fell down and died in his home at age 87. I was real sorry to hear that: I don't like it when people I recognize die. He was the last living actor for that movie, too. Rest in peace, Dickie Jones. :-(**

**(Third-Person P.O.V.)**

Smithers awoke first and placed a shaky hand over one of his eyes. The light burned his eyes, like a vampire in the sun. Soon after, sharp pangs in his body began to kick in, as well as a constant hammering against his skull, as if some living thing inside were using a mallet to try and break out. His ears throbbed loudly to the beat of his heart and sharp spikes shot down his spine. Even the sound of his own groan proved to be sensitive, as every small sound was ten times louder and contributed to the pounding of his head.

Moe awakened next, stirring just enough to get Smithers to notice. He noticed that Smithers was struggling to sit up and that his hand was pressed firmly against his forehead.

"Ah, God. Where am I? Where's Mr. Burns?" the younger man groaned, his memories of what happened the night before as fuzzy as an old movie reel's film.

"You went and got yourself schnookered last night, you dumb-ass," Moe half-explained, half-lectured into his pillow. Smithers let out a wheezy laugh and buried his head in his pillow as well before he looked at his surroundings (more specifically, the place he was currently laying in), blushed, and asked,

"D-Did anything..._happen_, last night?" Moe blushed also at the content hidden within the question before he answered,

"No, nothing happened. For the most part, you're innocent. Need some help?" He helped Smithers get out of bed and supported him under his armpit again like he did the other night. "So, do you even _remember_ any of what happened last night?" he asked.

"Oh, Jesus, I'm not sure I wanna _know_. I probably did something really embarrassing at one point, _didn't_ I?" Smithers moaned humiliatedly. Moe chuckled.

"Well, I'll give you a hint: you're a real swell flamenco dancer," he teased. Smithers pouted and his whole face turned crimson as Moe basked in his own laughter. This didn't last very long before he once again groaned in pain and placed a hand on his forehead. "Hey, whatssa matta? Normally, you're all _over_ this stuff. Shouldn't you be coming up with an equally scathing comeback?" Moe asked. He started to feel concern for the other man's condition.

"Damn. I feel like a train wreck. I think I've got a migraine or something," Smithers grunted.

"Well then what the hell are you doing _up_, you idiot?! Get back in that bed _immediately_!" Moe scolded. Smithers was too tired and sick to try and explain that Moe was the silly person who made him get up in the_ first_ place. But when he got to the bed and found out that Moe would be downstairs watching TV, he protested immediately.

"Aw, _Moe_! Do I _have_ to?! I don't wanna be alone, I wanna be with _you_!" Moe blushed deeply at how the line could be taken out of context before he sighed and said,

"Alright, alright! But if you puke all over me, you owe me dry-cleaning money!"

"No, in that case, I'll clean the mess myself," Smithers negotiated.

"Deal!" Moe declared. The two men went downstairs and sat on the couch. Moe tossed a navy-blue blanket to Smithers shortly before he turned on the TV and sat casually beside him. He turned his head to look at the younger man and remarked,

"I just want you to know that you're a downright fool and that if the television wrecks your brain somehow, you'd better not come cryin' to me." Smithers chuckled at his grumpiness and placed a friendly hand on his arm.

"Thanks, Moe. This means a whole lot," he whispered gratefully. Moe was secretly very touched by this, but he concealed that fact by scoffing.

"Oh, _brother_. Is _everything_ you say mush? Shut up and lookit the TV," he commanded, turning Smithers's face toward the screen with his hands. He didn't know why the younger man was so amused by his attitude: normally, _everybody_ was annoyed by him. It just made no sense. They flipped through the channels and found that there was nothing interesting on TV except -

"Stop! Stop here!" Smithers blurted suddenly. Moe released his thumb off the remote button and saw that Smithers had requested to watch...

"_Pinocchio_? _Seriously_?" Moe began to laugh like crazy. He hadn't expected the other man to like such a childish and fairy tale-like movie.

"_What_? I _loved_ this movie as a kid," Smithers defended whinyly. Even so, Moe couldn't help but snort and chuckle. Eventually, though, he quieted down. Besides, there was nothing else good on. Smithers mouthed along to the song "When You Wish Upon A Star". Moe couldn't help but wonder what his real singing voice sounded like. **Probably similar to Leonard Nimoy's,** he thought with amusement. After all, he _did _have a deep voice.

The whole movie was like a roller coaster ride. It wasn't just the movie, either: it was the way Smithers reacted to it that made it seem so adventurous.

"No, Pinocchio! Go to school, don't follow that fox!" he cried, as if the young boy with the wooden nose could hear him. But, much to Smithers and Jiminy Cricket's chagrin, Pinocchio went to see Stromboli's puppet show with the fox and the cat. Moe rolled his eyes.

"Does _everybody_ sing in this?" he groaned. **I mean, **_**really**_**.** **Why do we have to listen to an old shaky man like Geppetto **_**sing**_**?** he thought.

"Well of _course_, silly. It's a Disney movie: they're like musicals, in a way," Smithers chuckled. Later in the movie, when Pinocchio told a lie and his nose grew, Moe laughed and said,

"Boy, if my nose were like that, people would've started using it as a bridge across the Pacific by now."

"At least he knows not to lie now," Smithers joked.

"Ah, _I _see what you did there," Moe replied, raising a suspicious eyebrow. Smithers laughed.

"Pun totally intended," he giggled unapologetically. Moe liked the part where Jiminy got frustrated with Pinocchio and his friend and said that they could "make a jackass out of [themselves]" for all he cared. It reminded him of...well, _him_. Monstro the whale scared Smithers to a certain extent where his jaw hung open and he clutched Moe's arm with both hands. Moe didn't like Monstro either, but he was less expressive about it.

Smithers began crying silently at the part where Pinocchio was dead and Geppetto, Figaro, Cleo, and Jiminy were mourning. Moe rubbed his back to attempt to comfort him. By the end of the movie, Moe was also mouthing the words to "When You Wish Upon A Star" and Smithers had fallen asleep, his cheek resting on Moe's shoulder. Moe turned off the TV and leaned his head on Smithers's, falling asleep as well.

Later that evening, Smithers felt much better. He had the ability to get home safely after some much-needed rest.

"Now, make sure you get tons of sleep. Otherwise, Imma come over and slug you," Moe threatened playfully.

"You _wouldn't_," Smithers retaliated, sticking his tongue out.

"You'd be surprised. I've got some moves I can pull out from back in the old days," Moe said. The younger man laughed.

"Have a good night, Moe."

"You too. And remember: don't do anything stupid."

"Okay, Jiminy!" They laughed and shook hands before Smithers left. Moe couldn't help but wish that something more friendly and interesting than a handshake had ensued. After all, Smithers was his friend. He may not have been in love with him (he decided that he was probably just drunk the night before), but they complimented each other rather nicely.

He wished upon stars before and lost his faith in them, blinded by reality and the cruelty of others. But a special man by the name of Waylon Smithers gave him a reason to start believing again: he wanted to be his friend. And that, alone, meant all the world to Morris Szyslak.


	6. Babysitting

**A/N: Sorry I haven't updated immediately. Stupid high school and homework were getting in the way, so there wasn't much time in-between. ...In this chapter, Moe and Smithers babysit Maggie together and total cuteness ensues.**

**(Third-Person P.O.V.)**

Over the next week or so, Moe and Smithers had gotten more familiar and friendlier with each other. It was like they had an "it" friendship around Springfield similar to Lenny and Carl's: one was almost never seen without the other. Even Mr. Burns, the head boss of the nuclear power plant (and one who was usually unacquainted with the news of the world), found this to be true.

"Hmm...how strange," he thought out loud, "The Smithers family has always been attracted to the Burns family. Even Waylon Sr. showed utmost affection at times. I guess Smithers Jr. was never into me. Very strange, indeed." If he had any idea of what Smithers Jr. had thought of him over the course of his life, he would've been befuddled beyond belief or he would've ignored and denied it. After all, Charles Montgomery Burns was more unpredictable than one would think, regardless of how shallow he seemed at times.

The whole town was equally surprised to hear that the title of "Burns and Smithers" had receded all of a sudden and converted to "Moe and Smithers". Even Homer Simpson, who didn't seem to have a clue about a thing most of the time, was confused about this new epidemic.

"I called up Moe and Smithers. They agreed to babysit Maggie while we're out. Isn't that nice of them?" Marge asked her husband.

"Yeah, sure. Real great of – wait, _what_?! '_Moe and Smithers_'?! What happened to _Burns_?!" Homer blurted, nearly choking in surprise on his doughnut.

"Well, _I_ think it's sweet. Poor Smithers could never seem to catch a break when he worked for Mr. Burns. And now that he's with Moe, I hope they have a very happy future together," Marge sighed contently.

"B-But nobody _likes_ Moe!" Homer protested. This was all mind-boggling for him.

"_Homer_! That's not very nice! Now, what do you say?!" Marge scolded.

"Sorry, Marge," Homer replied meekly, as if he were an orphan from Annie apologizing to Mrs. Hannigan. After a short while, the doorbell rang. Marge answered it and found Moe and Smithers standing on the front doorstep.

"Hello, guys! Come on in!" she said cheerfully. They walked inside and took off their jackets at the same time. Homer was weirded out by their consistent choreography. "Thanks again for offering to babysit Maggie," said Marge.

"Oh, that's no problem, Midge. Where is the precious little darling?" asked Moe. Smithers stood quietly at his side, smiling.

"She's sleeping right now, but she'll be awake in time for dinner. Her sleeping schedule is very pronounced," Marge answered, chuckling.

"Can we go now?!" Homer demanded boredly, like the perpetual three-year-old he was.

"_Homer_!" his wife scolded curtly, before finishing what she had to say. "Feel free to use whatever's in the kitchen to make yourselves some dinner. If you need anything, my cell phone number is on the fridge. Bye, boys! Take care of yourselves!"

"We will," the two men promised, waving good-bye to Mr. and Mrs. Simpson as they left. Once they were out of sight, Moe turned to Smithers and said mischieviously,

"I wonder where they keep the beer." Smithers rolled his eyes.

"Very funny. Not on _my_ watch is that happening," he scoffed. Moe laughed.

"You're a real buzz-kill, you know that?"

"But you wuv meeee~!" Smithers sang jovially. Moe snorted at that.

"Ugh. Barf," he replied. The two men laughed at their silly conversation before zoning out and looking at each other in content silence. Most people did not like "awkward" silences or silence in general, but to Moe and Smithers, the type of silence they shared was comfortable and intimate, if you will. Sometimes, they zoned out for so long that they forgot all existence around them.

"Hi," Smithers said at long last, coming back to the real world but still smiling.

"Hello," Moe replied just as jocundly, joining his friend in reality once again. They always ended their silences by greeting each other, which most found to be odd. Then again, others found their silences to be odd as well.

"Wahhhhh!" Maggie cried from upstairs.

"Well, _that_ was fast," Moe commented. The two men ran upstairs into her room and picked her up out of the crib. Moe held her and talked to her as Smithers watched in admiration. Once they got downstairs again, they decided to make some dinner for themselves. But first, they had to feed Maggie.

"Okay, Maggie. What would you like from the menu tonight?" Smithers asked playfully. Maggie giggled and pointed at a jar of baby food nearby.

"Ah, an excellent choice, madame," Moe spoke up. He retrieved the jar and brought it to the high chair where Maggie currently resided. When he got to her, he scooped up some of the mush with a plastic spoon and brought it spiralling towards her mouth. "Uh... here comes the beer bottle! Chug, chug!"

"_Moe_!" Smithers giggled, only half-lecturing him.

"_What_?" Moe retaliated just as playfully. He got Maggie to eat every last drop before they could feed themselves. Smithers put on a frilly pink apron that just-so-happened to be nearby and got out the materials needed to make the perfect meal. He was a perfectionist when it came to food. Moe walked over to Smithers and pretended to give him a spank.

"Make me a sammich, woman," he joked in a grumbly, masculine voice. Smithers gaped in mock-hurt and placed a hand on his chest.

"Well in that case, I guess you're not eating any dinner tonight," he declared playfully. The older man moped, sulked, and pouted out his lower lip.

"Aw, _man_! No, but seriously, what's for dinner?"

"I ain't telling!" Smithers said gently but obstinately. Moe sighed.

"Alstublieft?" he begged. Smithers perked up at this and replied with,

"Ah, dus je spreekt nederlands."

"U ook, zo lijkt het. Boeiend, is het niet?"

"Vrij," Smithers agreed. They continued to have gaging conversations in Dutch, developing a deeper appreciation for themselves and the language all thw while. However, of course, Maggie had to ruin the moment by crawling away.

"Hey, where's Maggie?" Moe inquired.

"Oh, God. We just lost a baby," Smither slightly panicked.

"Keep your shirt on, professor. She's around here _somewhere_."

BAM! A noise came from the ceiling. The two men mouthed, "You don't think," to each other before going outside and discovering -

"MAGGIE'S ON THE ROOF!" And sure enough, Maggie was crawling around on the roof. They did not know how she got up there, but they had to get her down, for sure. Smithers scrambled to get a ladder and Moe tried escalating up the rain gutter only to discover that it was slippery. He landed on the top step of the ladder, groin first.

"Doh!" Moe shouted, the pain shooting through his lower abdomen. Smithers cringed.

"Sorry, Moe!" Then, they climbed up the ladder to get Maggie down on the ground. Unbeknownst to them, she was right behind them as they peered over the edge.

"You don't think she fell, do ya?" Moe asked. Smithers was about to reply when suddenly -

SHOVE! "AAAAAAA!" SPLASH! Maggie pushed Moe and Smithers from behind off the roof so they landed in a swimming pool. They resurfaced, laughing their butts off. **Kids these days,** they thought. Even Maggie laughed, as she climbed back through the window.

Moe was pleasantly surprised when Smithers served him dinner back in the house: steak, mashed potatoes, and peas. After they were finished showering and putting Maggie to sleep, Homer and Marge returned. Their house wasn't upside-down or exploding from a radioactive substance: always a good sign.

"Thank you, guys! Here's your payment," Marge said, handing them each some money.

"No problem, Midge! She's real great!" Moe complimented. Afterwards, Moe drove to Smithers's house to drop him off. They stood in front of his step.

"You're so good with children," Smithers gushed warmly.

"Me? Nah, I – no," Moe said, blushing modestly.

"Are you kidding? You're _amazing_," Smithers chuckled. Moe looked down humbly before saying,

"Well, this is it. I'll see ya tomorrow." He stuck out his hand, but instead, Smithers strode to him in three steps and enclosed him in an affectionate hug. Moe hugged back, although he was rather surprised.

"_Always_," the younger man whispered into his ear, shortly before walking through the door. Moe stood there, blinking in confusion. **Just what did he mean by that? What is this familiar feeling I've got? Why the hell am I thinking like one of those girls on television? **Moe didn't know the answers to any of these questions. The only thing he knew was that Smithers smelled really good: like shampoo, tangerines, and honey-suckle.


	7. Gotcha

**A/N: In this chapter, Moe and Smithers go on a bit of an adventure together. But I'd better not reveal too much of what happens right **_**now**_**... ;-)**

**(Third-Person P.O.V.)**

That night, Moe found that he could not sleep no matter what he tried. The warm glass of milk backfired, breathing in and out just wasn't working, and sheep were boring as hell to count. He tossed and turned so much, one would've thought there were Mexican jumping beans in his pants. Although, knowing there were past illegal shenanigans he'd been a part of, it would not surprise most people if there were. He grunted and groaned, shuffling to one side, then the next. **Someone call a doctor, got a case of bed-bipolar, **he thought irritatedly, as he referenced the well-known Katy Perry song.

Just as suddenly, a knock was heard downstairs. Moe cursed and hid his head under a pillow. Who in Santa Hill was knocking on his front door at _this_ time of night?!

"Go away!" he mumbled. He thought that maybe if he just lay there, the person knocking would get a damned clue and move on. However, that plan did not exactly work out.

_Knock knock knock!_ The person insistently knocked on the door, having decided not to leave. Moe growled frustratedly and nearly teared his hair out before grabbing the shot gun and trudging down the stairs. Once he opened the front door, he was embarrassed to find that it was not just some annoying pinhead, but his annoying pinhead best friend.

"_Smithy_? What are _you_ doing here?" he asked. Smithers brightened up at the older man's mention of his name.

"Moe! Moe, guess what _I_ saw?" he declared excitedly. Moe rubbed his eyes tiredly, yawning as if he'd just come out from hibernation.

"A new Duff Beer factory?"

"Nope!"

"A flying peanut butter monkey?" Smithers laughed and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"No, you clot! There's a whole field of fireflies who migrated from Maryland! C'mon, I'll show ya!" The younger man took Moe's hand and dragged him ecstatically to the car. Then, he drove to the field. When they got out, Smithers smiled at Moe's reaction. The older man's jaw dropped at least five feet. "So? What do you think?" he prodded.

A natural courtyard was formed by three walls of trees and the side with the road. The trees towered intimidatingly, their blackness and twisted branches coming across as something out of Sleepy Hollow. And yet, it was creepily beautiful, just the same. What really caught his eye, though, was the luscious green field entirely composed of grass and ferns and the tiny golden lights that allowed him to see it. These lights flickered on and off like a strobe light and golden-honey hues reflected off Smithers's glasses.

"Call me corny, but...I can barely even speak right now," Moe croaked. Never in his life had he seen anything more beautiful. _This_ was something worth getting out of bed for. Hell, he'd give up _smoking_ to be at a such a peaceful sanctuary like this every night. Smithers laughed at that.

"Then don't. C'mon, let's catch some fireflies," he said, grabbing Moe's sleeve and dragging him into the field. In the other hand, he held a trusty Mason jar. With this, he would be able to capture the beauty that shimmered in the air around the two men.

"Betcha I can catch more than _you_ can!" Moe taunted, holding up the Mason jar he'd also conveniently brought along.

"O-_ho_! Prepare to _lose_, Mr. Szyslak!" Smithers backfired cheekily.

"I don't think so! At least I ain't _old,_ like _you_!" Smithers cracked up.

"Well if I'm _old_, then what are _you_?!"

"Forty-seven years young!" Moe replied sassily, sticking his tongue out. Smithers gave him a playful shove.

"You're an arrogant little bugger!"

"Just wait 'till I win! Then this'll be the _least _of your problems!"

"You mean when _I_ win?"

"That's what I said! When 'I' win!"

"Haw haw! You're a real Funny Farm!" They spent the next few minutes desperately trying to catch fireflies. It wasn't just because of their friendly-rival game, either. They wanted to catch one for the sake of preserving its beauty inside a glass jar. Neither one of them could see where they were going and wound up tripping over a large tree branch that had fallen to the ground prior to their arrival. The result: they fell. Duh.

"Woah!" The two men tumbled downwards, but it just-so-happened that they landed in a soft patch of ferns...with Smithers laying on his back...and Moe in an awkward position on top of him. Then, at once, everything became silent. Sounds and echoes faded away one by one as the two men began to enter their familiar silence. But this time, it was something more content, more calm, more serene...more intimate.

Moe didn't even register in his mind that he was already starting to play with Smithers's hair gently. Smithers's smile grew, until it was a giant semi-circle that took up half of his face. It was him who broke the silence first.

"Hi," he whispered, in a slower manner than usual. Moe noted to himself that this time, his voice sounded deeper, wittier, and...sexier? _What?_

"H-Hello," Moe replied, more nervous than usual. They weren't able to move. They were stuck, like turtles on their backs, or marble statues that crumbled to the ground. They couldn't possibly move. ...Or was that just their excuse? Neither man knew, and one of them even thought he was straight, but they both beared the same thing in mind: they sure as hell liked wherever this was going.

Instead of starting up a new conversation or getting up and leaving abruptly, the world the two men shared re-entered its state of silence. Moe's brain was an all-out battlefield: half of his conscience was telling him to stop being such a creepo and go get himself a girl, while the other half was saying screw that, he should totally just make-out with this guy while he was there. He didn't even care what his stupid sexual orientation was right then. All he really wanted (or so his heart told him) was to kiss the man that currently lay below him, lips parted and eyes gleaming.

**What could go wrong,** he figured, **I mean, he's already gay, so it couldn't hurt. And anyway, I could just blame it on the fact that I fell. **And so, without any further hesitations, Moe gently slid his hands onto Smithers's cheeks, leaned his head downwards, and placed his lips upon his softly and sweetly. Smithers hitched his breath: his lips were motionless. After a few seconds, Moe pulled back and looked the younger man in the eye. He wasn't the least bit sorry. He had made his decision and Smithers was given plenty of time to get away. Now the only question was whether he would validate the event that just took place.

Much to his relief, the younger man gave him the dopiest, Sean Patrick Flanery-ist smile, his lips still glistening from where Moe's had been.

"I was waiting for this moment," he whispered passionately, before leaning up a bit and surprising Moe with a kiss of his own. They lay in the field all night, giving each other small kisses and looking at all the fireflies. The moment felt so right to Moe. He never wanted it to end, ever. But of course, it eventually did. ...Because that is how all good dreams end.

"God-_dammit_!" Moe shouted furiously, throwing a pillow across his room when he woke up in his bed.

**A/N: That's right! It was all just a dream! Hence why that's the chapter title. Did I fool you? But don't worry. I'm not completely heartless: they'll get together sooner or later.**


	8. Tension

**A/N: In this chapter, Moe and Smithers go through unresolved sexual tension ('cause I'm evil, bwahahaha) and are barely able to deal with it. Just a warning ahead of time: this may get a bit dramatic in the future. After all, what's a love story without a total soap opera homage (sarcasm)? ...But seriously. There's gotta be drama **_**somewhere**_**, right?**

**(Third-Person P.O.V.)**

**Okay, I get that I'm following wherever this so-called 'path of destiny' is leading me, but shite! This is ridiculous! This, this whole – thing we're going through, is reminiscent of ****Chicago****: he looks right through me, walks right by me, and DOESN'T EVEN KNOW I'M THERE! He probably never will, either.**

These exact thoughts all belonged to one common person: Waylon Smithers Jr. He, too, had been slowly developing feelings for his friend. For him it was less confusing because he had already gone through the process of mentally coming out of the closet. On the other hand, it could've been argued that it was equally as hard for Smithers to go through this process of feelings, as he did not know what Moe's sexual orientation was or if he ever even _thought_ about kissing another guy. Like, didn't he have a girlfriend once?

In reality, however, the two men were just blind fools who sometimes got so close to getting what they wanted, then didn't when an invisible force stepped in. It was like someone or something was blocking their path. There was an obstacle standing in the middle of their "path", and it wasn't budging an inch. It was like a brick wall: though they tried to overcome it in many ways, they kept falling down every time. It was so, so, _so_ frustrating.

**Look at him, not looking at me,** Moe thought spitefully. Would it hurt just once to steal his attention? For Smithers to actually look him in the eye, instead of avoiding his hinted glances? He smiled and waved, and for a second it looked as though he had the younger man's attention. But just as quickly, he looked down and turned his chair around so that he was no longer facing Moe. **Fricking God! Are his pants really**_** that **_**interesting?! Look at **_**me**_**, you dimwit!**

That wasn't even the worst part of it: the strain peaked at its highest point whenever they attempted to flirt subtly with each other. _Especially_ when they took direct physical approaches. There were times when Moe and Smithers would be waiting at a bus stop or somewhere else in the morning together. Many of those times, Smithers would convince himself that he was ready, he was confident, he was a brave man. Then, he would slowly reach his hand out to grab Moe's hand.

**I'm doing it! I'm doing it! I can do it! I'm almost there! I – **As usual, he would nearly loose his squash and fear would overrun his previous decision. Seeing his hand so close to Moe's produced frustration, sure, but the fact that he turned away and gave up was what shamed him the most.** Damn! Nope. I can't do it. Not today. **Then, slowly, he would retract his hand as if nothing had happened. Day after day, this became a repetitive process. Each day, Smithers would muster up the courage to hold Moe's hand, and before he was there, he would turn back out of fear of rejection.

Now, Moe wasn't always the guy to take the direct approach unless the situation called for it. He didn't know how to hold a guy's hand, or caress him, or touch him in general without him getting the wrong idea. And so, he used a tactic that would've proven clever had he been more captivating of Smithers's attention: he dropped subtle flirtatious hints in every conversation they shared.

Smithers would sit on the bar stool and Moe would get him a drink (but not too many, lest he become a drunken mess again). After all, if your friend already started ranting in fluent Mandarin about cotton candy at 10 PM, there was a 90% chance he would wake up wasted the next day. At least, that's what Moe figured out the hard way.

"Moe, I saw the cutest thing in the mirror today," Smithers commented out of the random.

"Let me guess: was it your face?" Moe asked, putting his flirting skills to work. Smithers only laughed dismissively and said,

"No, silly. It was a little lady bug, trying to find her way home. She looked pretty busy. Oh, speaking of busy, I'm going to a job interview tomorrow. Hopefully they'll love me enough to hire me."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure someone loves you _already_," Moe commented, not even trying to hide it at the moment. However, it seemed to go over Smithers's head.

"_Really_? Who?" he inquired, raising an interested eyebrow. Before Moe could answer, he walked away to the bathroom. Once he was gone, Moe banged his head on the countertop repeatedly, shouting, "Dammit, dammit, _dammit_!"

Over the next few days, Moe could feel himself slipping. Smithers was slowly rising back to the top of his game again. He would get a new job, probably some new friends, and where would Moe fit in? Nowhere. After all, why would anybody be friends with – woah, woah, _wait_ a fricking minute. Could it have been that Smithers only made friends with him out of _pity_?

**But...it couldn't be. What about all the good times we've shared together these past few days? Is that all I really am to him? A mere pawn on a checkerboard of people? **Moe didn't want to believe any of this: the thought of being used made him feel sick. But then, Smithers_had _been ignoring him a lot more these days. It was like Moe had become a boring second-hand part of his life that no longer thrilled him anymore.

...So, this was it, then. Smithers didn't need a loser like Moe anymore. A loser that pathetically and borderline unhealthily obsessed over him because he was the first real friend he had ever had. Moe took him under his wing, nursed him to health, and now he was a free bird who would surely leave him to die. Moe's world was slipping from his fingers and crumbling like a sand castle. Without Smithers, his world would revolve around darkness and frigidness, because Smithers was the sun he needed.

Since he was in such a fragile state, all the jerks of Springfield took advantage of this. They had a bone to pick with him.

"Ha ha! What a loser! Even the way he walks is like something out of a jungle!"

"No, honey, you can't go play with that man. He might get your clothes all dirty with his stench of failure."

"Hey, ugly! How's it feel to be the most hated man in Springfield?!" With each vile remark somebody made, anger and self-hatred coursed through Moe's veins. **God, I feel like such a fool. Of ****_course_**** it was all just pretend. Why would anybody be different from what I ****_usually_**** get? ...Well, if they want me to kill myself, then ****_fine_****. ****_I'll_**** do as they ask. I hate this stupid, cruel, suckish world anyways.**

Moe swallowed back tears of fury and kept an angry but serious expression on his face. His heart had hardened like a rock and his head felt heavy with pain. He walked inside his tavern to the back room where the noose hung from the ceiling. He slipped his head through the hole, swallowed, looked up at the sky, and said,

"See ya, suckers." However, it was in a very solemn, dark fashion.

Meanwhile, Smithers was walking home from his job interview with a big smile on his face. He felt quite confident that he would get the job, seeing as he loved Malibu Stacy dolls and had decent skills with children. He just couldn't _wait_ to tell Moe about it tomorrow. Eh, to hell with it, he'd tell him _today_. But...where _was_ he?

"Didja hear? I think he finally did it," one person near the post office declared.

"What? Did he just now realize we all wanted 'im dead?" his friend asked.

"Oh, no, he already knew. It's just that he granted our wishes."

"You don't mean-"

"Yes: Moe Syzslak just went to hang himself." Smithers gasped and his heart raced faster than a roadrunner. He wanted to scream, but he could hardly breathe. He tore down the road to Moe's tavern and burst through the doors and shrieked an ear-splitting "_STOOOOOOOP_!"

Moe choked up at the familiar voice and turned around slowly, revealing he hadn't been able to hang himself yet.

"Oh, stop pretending you care," he replied grumpily, though he was hurt inside.

"_What_?! This is _crazy_! _You_ are crazy!" Smithers shrieked, tears flowing down his face.

"Then why are you pretending you're my friend?! What is this horrible game you humans play?!" Moe retorted. Smithers removed the noose shakily from Moe's neck and threw himself into his arms, sobbing.

"I _am _your friend! And you are _mine_: the first one I've had in _years_! Sure, I had my boss, but...you were the guy I could have a beer and complain about the weather with! And you still _are_! Nothing's gonna change that! Not my job, not my 'ego', _nothing_! You have to understand that!" Moe looked up in realization and held up Smithers's chin with one hand.

"God, I'm real sorry. Is there any way I can make it up to you?" he asked gently.

"Just be quiet and let me hold you," Smithers sniveled, "Fricking _hell_, Moe! Never do that again! I could've _lost _you!"

"I won't. I'm sorry. Shhhhh..." The healing process of the hug they shared was effective: it made their friendship and feelings for each other flourish and become that much stronger.


	9. Fight

**A/N: Sorry that last chapter took forever. I had a raging headache and I was acting all perfectionist over it. I was at a Head of the Charles race and I heard there was an athlete there named Waylon Weston. Like, how awesome is **_**that**_**?! In this chapter I will focus more on humor (thank God). By the way, if you can spot the two Will Ferrell movie references, kudos to you and I do not own them.**

**(Third-Person P.O.V.) **

After the suicide attempt, none of the tension the two men were experiencing receded. Rather, the event allowed for it to grow and become even more obnoxious. Pretty soon, they were experiencing feelings of possession and jealousy. They were each other's biggest fanboys, it seemed. Because of this, whenever they felt threatened by a potential friend-stealer, things could get really ugly really quickly.

One day in particular, Moe noticed that Smithers was talking to somebody in his driveway. But it wasn't just _any _somebody: it was somebody who was a guy and was standing a few inches to close to his precious Waylon. He growled possessively and emerged in secrecy, like a lion approaching its prey. Then, he began to listen in on their conversation.

"Do you really like it?" Smithers asked.

"Yes, such a pretty face," the man replied fondly. Smithers blushed.

"Eh, it's not the best, but-"

"Nonsense. I love it just the same."

"Oh, _you_!" Smithers giggled, waving one hand in a dismissal-like way. **Hey! Only****_ I _****can call his face pretty!** Moe thought angrily. "Now, the-"

"Ah, yes. Here. I'll move it just where you like it," the man said in a strangely gruff voice.

"_Oh_. Why_ thank_ you, my good man," Smithers cackled playfully. Moe's jaw dropped. **Where is that hand ****_going_****?! **From his viewpoint, it looked like the mail man was inappropriately touching Smithers. To make matters worse, he said,

"Hey, you know where we should take this?"

"Yeah?"

"The bedroom." Their conversation was full of so much innuendo and wrong ideas that Moe eventually couldn't take it anymore.

"Alright, that's it! _Shoo_, ya son of a slug! If I ever see you again, I'll tie you in a spiky sack and float you down the Amazon river so's you can be Parrot Food!" he shouted. The man got so scared that he ran away. Moe placed his hands on his hips triumphantly. "Hm. Creeper," he remarked, before turning to see Smithers. Instead of a hug, though, Moe was greeted by the angry, shocked face of his friend. Then, like a thumbtack pricking a water balloon, all the frustration and tension they had been hiding exploded all at once.

"Moe, _what _is your _problem_?!" Smithers shouted, his face red with fury. Moe jumped before retorting with,

"Oh, _nothing_! It's not like I just saw some creepy nutcase coming on to you! Although, a 'thank you' _certainly_ would've been more sufficient!" Smithers nearly tore his hair out.

"You fricking dingbat! That was the _mail man_!"

"Well, how would _I _know?! I thought you _digged_ old guys who were so doped up on painkillers that they went Star Spangled-bananas!" Moe mocked sarcastically.

"Morris, that's not fair and you _know_ it! Mr. Burns was a great man-"

"Then why don't you go _back_?!" Smithers's jaw dropped and he gasped with disgust.

"You know _what_?! I just _might_! Who _knows_?! Maybe someday I'll be rich enough to fund a mental asylum for _idiots_ like _you_!"

"Oh, _brother_! You know, if I wanted to hear somebody insult my intellect all day, I would've hooked up with my wanky ex-girlfriend by now!" Around that moment, they were in each other's faces. People would occasionally stop to listen to what they were arguing about.

"Go _ahead_, then! Have fun being a _loser_ all your life!" Smithers shouted.

"I don't wanna alarm ya, but it's go-screw-yourself o'clock! Don't wanna be _late_!" Moe sneered.

"You know, you really _don't_! That's a good point!"

"Oh, _that's _rich! Where did you get _that_ joke, the _toilet_ store?!"

"_No_, I got it from the _dinosaur_ store! Remember last time we were there you told me this real funny joke and I laughed so hard I fell off my dinosaur? Yeah, it went something like, 'You're my best friend'! That's right! I'm bringing _that_ up to the Round Table, King Arthur! Whaddaya say to _that_?!" Smithers spat. It was Moe's turn to gasp in horror. Then he narrowed his eyes and growled,

"_I _say, go back to trash-talking school! A_ baby_ can talk better smack than you!"

"Oh, so you wanna talk _trash_, huh?! Well, why don't I shove you down a can so you can talk to all the pictures of the _memories_ we've shared together?!"

"Why don't you talk to my fist after I shove it down your t_hroat_, wise guy?!"

"I would gladly acquaint my foot with your ass! Why don't you talk to _that_?!"

"Because I don't want to talk to you whether it's your foot, your glasses, or your stupid garbage can! And it's because they all belong to _you_! Waylon - freaking – Smithers!" With every pause between each word, Moe poked Smithers in the chest.

"_Well_! At least I know what you _really_ think about me!" the younger man choked.

"Oh, _what_?! That's bull! You don't know anything _about _what I feel for you!"

"And what makes you think you know anything about _me, either_?!"

"I never insinuated that! _You _just never _listen_!"

"Oh yeah, well you're just an _idiot_!"

"_You're_ just a _dork_!"

"_You're _just an _imbecile_!"

"Ooh, lookit me, I'm a girl named Smithers who, like, totally talks too much! Blah, blah, blah!"

"Oh _yeah_?! Well, I'm a big stupid ape named Moe who likes to scratch his butt all day! Ook, ook!" Smithers did a monkey-like dance around Moe and Moe stood there with a hand on his hip and one hand opening and closing repeatedly as if it were talking.

"Blah, blah, blah!"

"Ook, ook!"

"Blah, blah, blah!"

"Ook, ook!"

"Blah, blah, blah!"

"You know what, _forget_ this! I shouldn't even be _talking_ to you right now, after all the crap _you've_ been giving me!"

"Go ahead and leave then, I could care less!" Smithers was about to go, but then he turned back around.

"But _first_, I wanna teach you a _lesson_!"

"You wanna _go,_ Twinkle-Toes?!"

"Precisely what I was _thinking,_ you Dutch freak!"

"You better watch it! I have guns of steel!"

"_Hah_! Guns of _Silly Putty_, more like!"

"Ladies first!" Before things could get too serious, Smithers and Moe were separated by a random civilian. They turned, still angry with each other.

"Don't think you're off the hook just _yet,_ _Szyslak_!" Smithers snarled, getting in Moe's face.

"I wasn't expecting much from _you, Smithers_!" Moe retaliated. Smithers began going on and on about how awful the older man was being.

"Boy, what a fool_ I _was! I don't know how I could possibly remain friends with such a mean, vulgar, rotten, awful, arrogant, insensitive, hateful, kitten-hating, twisted – MPH!" The reason that Smithers couldn't finish his sentence properly was that something totally "unforeseen" just took place. Moe violently grabbed both sides of Smithers's face, jammed his nose on the left side, and kissed him in a forceful sort of way. It was more like a block for Smithers's lips at first, but it gradually turned into a kiss. Then, he pulled away with an aggressive "Mwah!"

Smithers went half-stupid for a minute. His eyes were wide, his face and lips were red, and his mouth hung open in surprise. Just as suddenly, he slapped Moe effeminately.

"_Ow_! What the _hell_?!" Moe yelped.

"How _dare_ you kiss me?! I was going to kiss you _first_!" Smithers shouted.

"Oh, yeah?" Moe challenged, licking his lips, "What'cha gonna do about it?" Smithers placed his hands on Moe's cheeks and pulled him in for a kiss of his own. This time, both men participated, though they still needed to let off a little steam. Afterwards, Moe scoffed,

"You call that a _kiss_?!"

"Oh, like _you_ were any _better_!"

"I hate you!"

"I hate you _more_!" They spent the rest of the day angrily kissing and arguing until night time. In which case, they acted as if they were each other's most cherished treasures.

"...See, the mail man asked me a week ago to paint a picture of his wife's face since I told him I had skills in art. I was so happy to hear he liked it. Then that thing he was moving was just a box that had a lamp inside it. I ordered it in exchange for the picture since I didn't want money. He was the one to suggest that we put it in my bedroom. It was all innocent," Smithers explained, clarifying on the event that happened prior to the big fight.

Moe chuckled and kissed Smithers on the forehead.

"I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions like that. Can you forgive a stupid, love-sick man like me?" he asked. Smithers laughed and took his hand.

"Sure, Mosey," he replied happily. They sat on the front step of Smithers's house hand-in-hand and watched the full moon appear from behind the clouds.


	10. Love

**A/N: This is the last chapter, guys, sorry! I thought it would be good to wrap it up here after such a huge event, plus I had a ten-chapter goal in mind. However, I'd like to thank those who read and reviewed because these are the most reviews I've ever gotten. So thank you for your support and I hope you like this chapter.**

**(Third-Person P.O.V.)**

Smithers had a great job at the toy store in the Malibu Stacy aisle. Every morning, he got up early, had some coffee and a cheese Danish, kissed his significant other goodbye, and drove to work in the blue car. Moe would take the red car to the bar where _he _worked and wait for 5:30 PM, that special time when his beau would return from work and visit him.

Smithers walked through the door of the back room cheerfully, singing his own little parody of a song he'd heard on the radio that day.

"Something in the way he moves,

Attracts me like no other lover.

Something in the way he moves me.

I don't wanna leave him now; you know I believe and how."

Moe chuckled and walked up to greet him with a hug. The younger man smelled crisp and fresh, from the cool, nightly October breeze.

"How was work today? Any of them kids cause a Malibu Stacy avalanche?" he asked.

"No, it was fine. I'm _alive_, aren't I?" Smithers chuckled. Moe nodded in reply.

"Good point. How 'bout a cocktail?"

"Oh, yeah, that would be real nice. Could you go get one for me?"

"No way, I ain't your maid!" Moe chuckled.

"Are _now._ I always knew I was the man of this relationship," Smithers commented jokingly. Moe raised a mischievous eyebrow.

"Is that _so_? C'mere, you!" He began to chase after the younger man, who burst into a fit of giggles and ran out of the back room.

"You'll never catch me~!" he sang.

"Ha ha! Get back here, ya naughty little monkey!" Moe chuckled. They sprinted to the main countertop and much to Smithers's misfortune, there was nowhere to escape. At last, Moe, with a glint in his eye, growled like a wild animal and pinned the younger man's shoulders to the countertop. Smithers screeched and giggled with joy and Moe began planting kisses on every inch of his face.

"Moe, _stop _it!" Smithers chuckled, his face flushed both with humiliation and joy.

"Heh heh heh! _Moe, stop it_!" Moe mocked playfully, continuing to kiss Smithers's face. Smithers laughed some more before pretending to complain,

"No, seriously, stop! _Moe_! There are customers waiting in line!" Moe looked up in realization, released Smithers's shoulders, stood up, and scratched his head.

"Right. Heh heh, sorry." He worked for the rest of his shift, closing up the place once everybody had gotten their last drink for the night. Then they drove their cars home, red and blue side-by-side. Everybody in Springfield had something to say about the sight.

"Such a strange couple."

"I give it a month before it all falls to shite."

"Who woulda thought ol' Moe would go for a _guy_? Maybe his previous girlfriends were just cover-ups, all these years."

"Great. Now _there's_ an image permanently burned into my brain."

Regardless, the two love birds didn't seem to hear a thing. They only turned up the car radios and hummed along to the music. Once they got to the home they shared, which was Moe's house that Smithers moved into, they got out of their cars and started walking inside together. However, Moe came up with a little surprise of his own. As soon as they reached the first front step, he whisked the younger man into his arms bridal-style and kicked the door open.

"_Woah_! Ha ha, _you're_ in a romantic mood this evening," Smithers commented jovially.

"Only around you, honey," Moe mused, winking. Once they got inside, Moe put him down, they turned on the living room night, and they stood in front of the window with the closed shade. Smithers wrapped his arms around the older man's neck, who in turn, wrapped his around his waist.

"You know what's funny?" Smithers asked, laughing shyly.

"What? What's funny?" Moe replied, gazing lovingly into those honey-hazel eyes he saw in his dreams.

"I just – I never would've thought that you would feel the same exact way about me, and yet you still haven't got a clue about whether you like girls more," the younger man answered curiously. Now that he mentioned it, it was true. But Moe had only felt this way about Smithers: he was the only guy he genuinely _had_ feelings for. If it weren't for his existence he would be happily married to some girl who found him fascinating, but it wouldn't be the same: his life wouldn't be complete, like it was right now. Because the truth was (though crazy it may sound coming from a guy who just met his beau about a month ago), Smithers was his soulmate. It could easily be argued that he was "Smithersexual".

"I don't care what my sexual orientation is as long as I'm with you," was his reply. And it seemed to be the correct one, because Smithers gave him the dopey Sean Patrick Flannery-ish smile he had seen in that one dream and moved in to kiss him lovingly on the lips. It was a kiss of many they would share in the future, but it was easily one of the best they had. After they pulled apart, they stood there, embracing.

"Waylon?"

"Morris?"

"I love you,"

"I love you too." They kissed again. Destiny had disrupted the traditional paths of life the two men used to walk separately, and yet, at the same time, it mended them so that they were conjoined into one happy ending. They were pleased to find what lay at the end: the gift of true love for all eternity, lack of loneliness, and, most importantly, each other.

Meanwhile, somebody was watching the silhouettes of two men madly in love that the living room light was reflecting. His hair was white and slowly balding, his hands were worn and wrinkled, and a genuine smile was fixed upon his face. Who was he? He was none other than – what do you know? – Charles Montgomery Burns.

"Thank goodness I fired him; it was best for both of us," he reasoned out loud. Then he looked up at the sky and called, "You're a good man, Waylon Smithers! Your son is the bee's knees, but you will always be my favorite assistant! Thank you for the forty years of joy you've given me!"

With that, he began to walk home proudly. Just as suddenly, a light appeared in front of him.

"Wha? What's going on?" he questioned, scratching his head. He looked up and gasped at a sight he only would've believed to see in his fantasies: the ghost of Waylon Smithers Sr. was descending gracefully from heaven. When he landed, he looked into the shocked face of Mr. Burns and chuckled.

"What's the matter, Monty? Cat got your tongue?" he asked.

"Holy _criminy_! _Waylon_! What are you _doing_ here?!" Mr. Burns cried out in surprise. His eyes were as wide as saucers.

"Heaven was boring as _hell_, Burnsie. All anybody wanted to do all day was sing and frolick in the clouds. Gets a little annoying after forty years. Besides, you've done a good thing. I wanted to reward you for it by coming back to your side, where I work best," Waylon replied. There was so much affection in those words, and Monty felt quite touched inside.

"Smithers...there's something I've always wanted to tell you but I never had the chance because – you know-" He choked up a bit and Waylon effortlessly dried his tears.

"Yes...I know. What is it?" he inquired kindly. Burns looked down rather bashfully and his ears reddened before he mumbled,

"I...I really like you. In fact, I _love _you. Like, _really_." Waylon looked genuinely surprised for a second, but he smiled just as quickly and admitted in a choked-up voice,

"I'm so glad to hear you say that, because – I've loved you for many years too, even though I had a wife and a baby." A comfortable, though slightly melancholy silence followed, for though they were together again, there was that tragic regret of not having said these things earlier. Mr. Burns was the one to break the silence.

"So...what do we do _now_?" he asked hesitantly, as if the ghost would disappear again any minute. Waylon frowned in thought and cradled his chin in his hand before saying,

"Ooh! _I_ know! Let's go _fire_ somebody!" Monty perked up at that.

"_Yeah_! Heh heh, let's fire that noob Sarah!"

"She won't know what's _coming_ to her!"

"And you may do the honors of releasing the hounds!"

"Oh, _may_ I?! I've always _wanted_ to do that!" They laughed and began walking back to the power plant they called home. Mr. Burns rested his head on Smithers's shoulder.

"Oh, _Waylon_! I feel like I'm sixty-four again!" he chuckled.

"But you _are_, Monty! Sixty-four years young and still as handsome as ever!" Smithers argued playfully. "By the way, race ya to the plant!" With that, he took off at full speed. Mr. Burns laughed.

"Hey," he cried mock-angrily, "hey, come back here, you moron!" If anybody in Springfield were to look out their windows that night, they would have been bewildered by the sight of man and ghost, hand-in-hand, laughing and running through the streets.

THE END


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